by Troy Denning
The forest vanished from Sadira's mind. She found herself lying on the blackened rocks of the canyon rim, Nok lay a few feet away, face-down, with his left arm twisted awkwardly behind his back.
The sorceress leaped to her feet immediately, activating her cane by calling Nok's name. The pommel began to glow with its familiar purple light, and she felt the customary tingle of life-force being drawn from her body.
The chieftain rolled onto his back. His left arm hung useless at his side, but in his right hand he held his own obsidian ball. "Do not think to kill me with my own magic," Nok said, glaring at Sadira.
As he spoke, an emerald light glimmered deep within the globe he held. The sorceress's life-force began to drain away more rapidly. Her stomach grew queasy and her head swam. A cold shudder ran through her body, then her knees began to tremble and she knew unconsciousness was only a moment away.
The sorceress stepped toward Nok and swung the pommel of her cane at the globe in his hand. "Dawnfire," she whispered.
Nok raised his arm to block the attack, and the two balls of obsidian met with a sharp crack. Brilliant lights flashed all the colors of the rainbow, momentarily blinding Sadira. Peals of thunder roared through the air, striking the far side of the canyon with such force that they sent tons of boulders clattering down into the chasm. At the same time, a tremendous Shockwave hit the sorceress's chest, hurling her backward through the air.
As Sadira slammed into the rocky ground, Nok's voice rang out in a harrowing cry. The sorceress pushed herself to her elbows, lifting the cane to attack.
A horrified scream erupted from her throat. Only a few inches from her hand, the cane ended in a scorched stump, with a single shard of its obsidian pommel still buried in the shaft. For a long time, the sorceress stared at the stub in speechless dismay, her heart filled with a terrible sense of loss.
The cane had been almost as important to her as her own life. With it, she had been strong enough to defend all of Tyr, and powerful enough to face the unknown perils of the Pristine Tower. Now she had only her own magic and vigor to rely upon—and she did not know if those two things would be enough.
Sadira looked past the end of the cane to where Nok had fallen. In the chieftain's place was a jagged crater, coated with soot and deep enough that the sorceress could not see the bottom. From this hole poured a thick plume of smoke, as black as obsidian and shaped like a great oak tree. Rising with the inky fumes were long ribbons of watery color: green and purple, but also red, blue, yellow, and a dozen others. The branches of the vaporous tree were gently waving, as if stirred by an unfelt breeze, and they were hissing Sadira's name.
FIVE
A Bargain
"You over there!" called a man's voice. "Wake up!"
The words came to Sadira across the chasm, echoing through her head with agonizing clarity. The voice was deep, with a glib quality that nettled the sorceress's sensibilities and kindled an immediate distaste for the speaker.
"Are you alive?"
Sadira opened her eyes and found herself staring into the blazing orb of the sun. Terrible, sharp pangs stabbed through her eyes, and her vision disintegrated in a spray of crimson light. She squeezed her eyelids shut again, but the pain did not fade.
The sorceress's head was not all that hurt. Her arm throbbed with dull agony, and her back ached along her entire spine. Her face stung as though someone had just slapped her, and the skin felt brittle and tight. From the thighs down, her legs prickled with the torment of a thousand needles stuck an inch into her flesh. Even her throat and tongue hurt, swollen as they were from the lack of water. Sadira turned her head to the side and raised her eyelids again, this time forcing herself to keep them open. To her pained eyes, the other side of the canyon remained a blur. Nevertheless, she could tell that there was a group of people, probably a caravan of some sort, standing near the pediments of the bridge she had destroyed.
Ignoring them, the sorceress focused her attention on her own situation. She still lay where she had collapsed after the battle with Nok, in the filthy soot she had created by defiling the land. Her wounded arm had turned dark purple, and was swollen to the size of her shoulder. The cuts themselves, crusted with blood and foul black dirt, were already inflamed and oozing.
When Sadira's eyes fell below her waist, a gasp of horror rose to her parched throat. Several woody vines had sprouted from the crater where Nok had perished. They were grotesque gnarled things, coiled in a tangled mass and covered with grimy black leaves shaped like those of an oak tree. The plants had crept across the rocky ground to where she lay, entwining her legs in their tendrils and sinking their barbed thorns deep into her flesh.
Sadira shook her head, hoping this was a nightmare. She had not been chased by a tribe of halflings, the sorceress told herself. She had not killed Nok, and her cane had not been destroyed. Soon, she would awaken in Milo's camp and discover it had all been an hallucination brought about by the strange spice in the Nibenese broy.
"Hey, over here!" called the glib voice.
Sadira looked across the canyon again. This time, her vision was clear, and she saw a tall, lean shape with silver hair. Behind him, scattered over the hardpacked sands of the caravan trail, were a hundred more tall figures. Dozens of kanks were milling about both sides of the road, foraging on the clumps of golden salt brush strewn here and there in the red sands.
"Elves," Sadira hissed in a disgusted voice. "This is worse than a nightmare."
Ignoring the elf who had called to her, Sadira found the end of a vine and pulled, ripping a half-dozen barbs from her skin. She regretted her action instantly. The rest of the plants recoiled, planting their barbs more deeply and setting her legs ablaze with pain.
The vines retreated toward the crater, dragging the sorceress along with them. Screaming, Sadira tried to kick free, but her struggles only set the barbs more deeply. She clutched at a soot-covered rock and managed to hold herself motionless. The vines continued to retract, ripping long gouges in her flesh, and finally she let go.
Black fume hissed from the crater, carrying the sorceress's name on its breath: "Sadira."
"Nok?" she screeched.
The sorceress reached back and grabbed her satchel, barely managing to catch it before passing out of reach. Pinning the cloth sack beneath her swollen arm, she reached inside and fumbled around until she found a gummy yellow ball. She tossed the bag aside and turned her palm toward the ground.
It took precious moments to collect the energy she needed, for all the plants within her normal range were dead. She had to reach out beyond the blackened area, to the cacti that had barely felt her touch earlier. Even when the sorceress found what she needed, the life-force did not flow smoothly through the corrupted ground. She had to concentrate hard to keep it from dissipating into the starved soil.
By the time Sadira had collected the power she needed, the vines had pulled her to within a few yards of the hole-In the hissing black breath that came from the crater, she smelled the musty decay of the forest. Sadira threw the yellow ball into the hole and spoke the words of her spell, hoping she would survive what happened next.
For a moment, the sorceress continued to slide toward the crater, scratching and clawing at the filthy rocks in a vain attempt to stop the movement. Then a tremendous roar sounded from the hole and a cone of fire shot into the sky. Tongues of flame arced over Sadira's head, lapping at the ground near her satchel and casting an orange glare over the rocks at her side. Searing heat scorched her back and the smell of singed hair filled her nostrils. The sorceress did not complain, for the grip of the vines relaxed, and she no longer felt herself being pulled toward the crater.
A rousing cheer drifted from the far side of the chasm, as though she had put on the show for the enjoyment of the elves. Sadira looked across the canyon and saw them waving their lances in the air. "Filthy thieves," the sorceress whispered. She turned around and faced the crater. The smoke of her fireball still rose from the hole in black wisps, ca
rrying with it a few charred oak leaves. Most of the vines had been reduced to lines of ash, although a twisted mass of blackened fibers were still draped over Sadira's legs.
Hissing in pain, the sorceress began pulling the thorns of these vines from her flesh. When she was at last free, Sadira struggled to her feet and grabbed her satchel. She turned and staggered away as fast as she could.
"Hey, woman! Where are you going?" called the elf. "Isn't this your kank over here?"
Sadira ignored him and continued onward. The last time she had listened to an elf had been before Tyr's liberation, when a slick-tongued rogue named Radurak had offered to help her escape a pair of the king's guards. In the end, he had stolen her spellbook and sold her into slavery. She did not see any reason to think this occasion would be any different.
"Stop!" the elf cried, his voice echoing down the length of the canyon. "We just want to help." He did not sound like he wanted to help. To Sadira, he sounded angry.
When Sadira did not obey, the elf made his final plea. "It won't cost anything!"
The sorceress paid him no attention, for although they often claimed otherwise, elves never helped anyone for free. She continued up the road a few more steps, then stumbled and fell to her knees.
"Woman!" the elf yelled, no longer trying to conceal his irritation. "We can see what happened. Halfling tracks all over, a carrier drone with a spear in her thorax, your legs torn to shreds, your arm the color of a hatchling queen. You need help—and soon."
Sadira looked toward the elf and squinted, amazed at his eyesight. She could barely tell the color of his hair, yet he could see her clearly enough to detail her wounds. She had heard that the vision of full-blooded elves was keen, but she had not guessed it was this good.
When the sorceress made no move to rise or to answer, the elf continued, "I'll save you if you bring me across!"
Sadira frowned, wondering how the elf knew she could. When she looked around, however, the answer was clear. From the swath of land she had blackened, it was obvious that, in her efforts to escape the halflings, she had used at least one powerful spell to destroy the bridge. It would not be unreasonable for the elves to assume that a sorceress of such power could levitate one of their number across the canyon.
After a few moments of thought, Sadira decided to accept the offer. It was certainly possible that the elf would betray his word and try to take advantage of her, but that hardly mattered at the moment. Whatever his intentions, he was right about one thing: without help, she would soon die. The sorceress rose and started to leave the blackened area.
"What's the matter with you?" screamed the angry elf. "Don't you speak the trade language?"
Sadira did not even to try to shout an explanation, for she knew the words would not escape her swollen throat. Instead, she waved her arm in the direction she was going, pointing to an area where plenty of cacti still rose from between the stones.
The elf and his tribe finally understood. As she stumbled forward, they mirrored her progress, moving along the dunes rimming the opposite side of the canyon. It took Sadira several minutes to travel the short distance to undefiled ground, but eventually she reached a place where the plant life showed no sign of the destruction she had caused.
Sadira put her satchel on the ground, then withdrew a small parchment and rolled it up. Holding the tube to her lips, she cast one of her simplest spells.
"Tie a line to an arrow and shoot it across the canyon," she whispered, her parched throat aching from even that small exertion.
The elf looked from Sadira to where the voice had sounded at his side, then spoke to his companions. One of them quickly returned with an arrow attached to a coil of twine and fired it across the chasm. The shaft clattered to the ground a few yards away. Sadira quickly retrieved it before the string, which was settling into the canyon, dragged it away. The sorceress looped the line of braided plant fibers around a rock.
That done, she lifted her parchment tube to her lips again. "Hold your end of the line," she whispered. "And bring water."
The elf nodded, then sent two companions back to the kank herd. A short time later, they returned with a ceramic jug and gave it to the speaker. Sadira found it peculiar that they would carry something as precious as water in a vessel that could be so easily broken, but she quickly put her misgivings aside as she pondered the size of the jar. It was so big that the elf had to use both hands to carry it. Apparently, he intended to be sure she had plenty to drink.
"I'm ready!" he yelled.
Sadira prepared for her next spell, making a small loop out of a piece of leather string. This she tossed in the elf's direction as she spoke her mystic phrase. The loop vanished, and the elf rose off the ground. Sadira went to the line and pulled, bringing him across the chasm as though he weighed nothing at all.
The elf arrived, an overbearing grin on his face. He was a huge man, standing fully two heads taller than Sadira. The light burnoose covering his frame did not conceal his barreled chest, and the thick forearms extending from the sleeves of the robe were heavily muscled. His silver hair hung over his back in an unruly tail that left his sharp-tipped ears completely exposed. Even by the standards of his race, the man's features were singularly gaunt and keen, with high spiked brows, a nose as thin as a dagger blade, and a pointed chin. The sorceress wondered if he were ill, for his flesh was pallid and his gray eyes framed by dark circles of exhaustion.
As the elf stepped onto solid ground, a large purse of metal coins jingled under his robes. To Sadira, it sounded as though he were carrying a considerable fortune on his person. A distrustful light flashed in the elf's eyes, and she realized that her expression had betrayed her astonishment. She quickly lowered her brow.
"Thanks for your aid," she said, hoping her smile would not betray how ill-at-ease she felt in the elf's presence.
He returned her gesture, though his smile seemed far from sincere. "My tribesmen are your servants," he said, bowing so deeply that water sloshed from the jug's mouth. The elf's gray eyes bugged out. "By the sun, I am careless!"
He tried to catch what he had spilled by swinging the bottom of the vessel downward and shoving the mouth under the stream of falling liquid. The elf succeeded only in striking a stone, knocking a large hole in the jug and splashing its contents over the ground. Sadira leaped forward and scratched at the wet sand in a vain attempt to salvage a few gulps of water.
The sorceress succeeded only in scraping the skin from her knuckles. She looked up at the elf. "You did that on purpose!" she rasped, barely able to squeeze the words from her aching throat.
The elf looked hurt. "Why would I do such a thing?" he asked. "Water is too precious. I might as well throw my silver into the canyon!" He waved his free arm at the chasm.
"You might as well throw yourself in," Sadira commented sourly, snatching the jug from his hands. "I'm well versed in the ways of elves. You want something from me, and until you get it, you'll keep having 'accidents' with the water I need."
The elf frowned. "Is that any way to speak to your savior?"
"You haven't saved me yet," Sadira answered. She held the jug to her cracked lips and tipped her head back. A few dregs of water, drops clinging to the interior walls, trickled down her throat.
"But I shall," the elf said. He went to the canyon edge. "We have plenty of water over there."
"And how will you bring it over here?" Sadira asked, throwing the ruined jug into the abyss.
He gave her a gray-toothed grin. "Perhaps you could bring over one of my warriors?"
"And then another, and another after that, until I've brought the whole tribe over," Sadira concluded.
The elf nodded. "That would be kind of you."
"Forget it," Sadira said. "You're the only one I had the strength to bring over today. If you hadn't wasted the water, it might have been possible for me to bring the rest of the tribe over tomorrow."
"Come now, surely you can—"
"I can't use that spell again unti
l tomorrow," Sadira said, twisting her cracked lips into a sardonic smile. "But as you can see, I'll be dead before then."
The elf's grin vanished. "I'm trapped here?"
"Not at all," Sadira said, gesturing across the chasm. "You're free to leave when you like."
The elf studied the sorceress with a mistrustful scowl, then stepped away from the rim and hopped into the air. When he dropped back to the ground, he smiled and wagged a long finger at her. "You are a brave woman to make jokes at a time like this," he said, kneeling at her side. "Let me look at your wounds."
Sadira allowed him to examine her shredded legs.
"These are not so bad," he said, indicating the thorn wounds. He shifted his attention to her arm. "But this ..." He let the sentence trail off, shaking his head.
The elf suddenly reached up and, pushing away Sadira's interfering hand, undid the belt she had tied around her arm. The whole limb erupted into agony as circulation returned to it, and blood began to ooze from its cuts. Screaming in pain, Sadira shoved her tormentor away.
"Give me my belt," she commanded, holding out her hand.
"Your arm must have blood or it will die," the elf responded. He rose and threw the leather strap into the canyon.
"What good is it to have a live arm, if I bleed to death in an hour?" Sadira demanded.
"What good is it to live an hour, if your arm will kill you in a week?" the elf countered. He studied the sorceress's savaged arm for a while longer, then asked, "Are you sure you can't bring just one more person over the canyon?"
"I'm sure," Sadira lied. Despite her thirst and her injuries, the sorceress thought it wisest to complete her negotiations before using any more magic.